


Nights Without Sleep

by Peach_Pit



Series: His Majesty, Ignis Scientia [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Anxiety, Canon Disabled Character, Feels, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Marking, Post-Apocalypse, Promnis - Freeform, Sad Boners, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 08:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10553416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peach_Pit/pseuds/Peach_Pit
Summary: Emptiness clawed at King Ignis, desperate to take what remained of his heart. He’d given so much to the restoration of his homeland.Prompto was a balm in his life. Ah, what he wouldn’t do for that man... He heard for him, tasted for him, felt for him.In a shattered world, two men sought for a moment of peace.(Future/King Ignis AU)





	

**Author's Note:**

> SufferCon 2017 continues! Please "enjoy" yourselves.
> 
> Edited by [Callie](http://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com)! What a gem!
> 
> Part of a [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/733122) of stories involving Ignis as king. See also: [Coronation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10612686) (the beginning), [The Realm of Kings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10498812) (the end).

King Ignis Scientia turned to his side. He reached for his phone beside him.

At night, after he lay down his head, he would always set his phone where he could reach it quickly: to his right, forty-five degrees from the hip. Unlike when he was younger, he always lay on his back; it was easier with his injuries. Flat in the middle of the royal mattress, one that had once belonged to a different family, he lay cold, little of his own warmth barely enough to make it past the comforter. Chamber pitch under the lightlessness of a new moon, dark nearly as his own sight, his mind retreated into the only certainty he knew in this world without Noctis; that this empty chamber, bereft of light, with but two guards separating him from the world, was the thing most like him.

Ah, what a foolish thought. It was not as though there was  _ nothing  _ about himself that he liked,  _ nothing _ that stood out within his new identity. Noctis had gifted Ignis with a deep trust and the ability to lead; to deny his own self-worth would be to squander Noctis’s most cherished bonds and let down Insomnia - no, all of Lucis. If it was one thing he had always trusted Noct with, it was his taste in company.

Still, though, emptiness clawed at him, desperate to take what remained of his heart. He’d given so much to the restoration of his homeland.

“Okay, Moogle.”

His phone lit up and gave off a tiny  _ kupo! _

“Text Prompto.”

He wanted someone to take the strain off of his shoulders. Erase the ache of ink and pen pressed against paper, assuage the endless weaving of words to appease little lords springing from the woodwork outside the city walls. Someone, somehow, some way, take it from him.

“Prompto… I need you right now. Come to my chamber.”

The phone read its input back to Ignis in a cute voice. “Prompt I need you fight now come to my ember.”

…Close enough.

He wanted not to have to think.

“Send.”

❦

Not ten minutes later, Prompto was at the doors to Ignis’s private quarters, dressed in full Kingsglaive gear. The two guards crossed their axes before him.

An unusually gruff sigh. “Guys, just let me in. The king has sent for me.”

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the woman on his left, unrelenting.

Frustration. “Guys, it’s  _ me _ . Is everything okay?”

“Go back home, bastard,” came the voice of the other guard. Prompto shot them a sharp look, falling on empty eyes behind a deep black helmet.

“Yeah, ain’t ya off duty anyway?”

The door creaked open behind them, its great decorated symmetry breaking to give sight of the king in his leisure robes, emerging just enough for Prompto to see. The guards withdrew immediately.

“Your Majesty,” the guards said in unison.

“It’s okay. I summoned him.” Ignis gestured subtly. “Come, Prompto.”

Prompto followed Ignis inside with one last sideways glance at the guards. Closing the door behind him, he said, “Geez, what do you gotta do to get good help these days, am I right?”

He laughed weakly at his own attempt at joking around before Ignis grabbed him, forcing him into a deep kiss, so sudden that he missed Prompto’s lips entirely at first, moving from the nose down. Prompto drew his face away, slightly taken aback.

“Whoa there, not wasting even a bit of time tonight, are you?” Keeping hold of the king’s arms, Prompto tried to put just a little space in between them. “I really thought you were in trouble for a split second there. Something about a fight? The speech recognition is messing up again, isn’t it? Need me to help reconfigure it?”

“Everything’s fine,” Ignis said, taking another lunge at Prompto’s face.

Prompto indulged this time, for a moment. He still had to stand on his toes to kiss the man. Ignis wouldn’t slow down, biting and sucking at Prompto’s mouth like he would lose it if he stopped. Prompto pulled away again.

“Ignis, something’s wrong,” he declared. Though he could barely see in the dark, and Ignis’s expressiveness had waned with time, he could  _ feel _ it. The ruler had long forgone casual chats and gentle moodmaking for pure carnal desire and demanding fondles. At first Prompto thought that maybe the word “king” had gone to his head, but there had to be something deeper. “We don’t really… _ talk _ anymore, do we? You can talk to me anytime, y’know.”

“I don’t want to talk,” spoke Ignis. “I want to fuck.”

Prompto thought he might say something like that.

At first, he had little qualm with letting Ignis use his body. After all, he  _ liked  _ the man…and, the attentive person he had been, he’d treated Prompto tenderly, gratifying one another in the warmth of the new world’s light. On their best days, Prompto would entertain the vision of himself sitting beside Ignis on the throne.

Lately, however, there was a desperation to it, almost an unfocused spite. Ignis may not have been aware — he was so often preoccupied these days, if not with the new initiatives, then with his own coping mechanisms. In the world recovering from ruin, other people left to seek for guidance or blame for one’s frustrations and personal failings were few to none.

Surely, though, he was coping.

Somewhere along the way, Ignis had begun to swear that his scars were burning. Incessant, needless pain, assuaged only by what medication they could manufacture. Prompto believed him…and the king continued to live by it, even on the days he seemed relatively fine. Prompto would not question it, of course, far be it from him or anyone, but with each pill, rather than experience relief, Ignis became more dire. It was frightening. Prompto did not want to have to fear him.

Moreover, Prompto did not want to inconvenience him.

Of course he would still sacrifice himself for his king. He would have done it for Noct. This…it's what Noct would have wanted.

Then, as now, he would peel off his clothes or whatever armor he wore. When Prompto would take too long, Ignis would strip him himself, unbuckling and unlatching and unlacing until the younger man was laid bare on his bed. His dire force only multiplied each tryst; Prompto didn’t hate it. This more commanding side of a man he once perceived to be gentle and calm turned him on in a major way, occasionally even making him forget what he was there for; how he was being used.

Nude, he gazed up at the king stripping his robes before him in the barest of light cast from beneath the chamber doors. Skin soft with his years on the throne. Still beautiful, even today. During his desperate shucking of Prompto’s clothes, he had measured every step, the distances between their bodies and the bed, few to no obstructions within the unadorned chamber to slow him further. Calculated yet fluid steps led him over his lover, again seizing his lips with jabs of tongue, eliciting a moan from the blond. Soon they were spread across the mattress, Prompto’s torso arching up into Ignis as the king ran his hands down Prompto’s freckled shoulders, arms, side, lightly grabbing a patch of pudge, every touch sending his blood rushing. Prompto drank in this pleasure, committing to seeing the man he’d loved before. Somewhere inside the man there with him now.

Ignis focused on making Prompto erect as quickly as possible. Even now, after all these years, it was simple, a mere matter of motions. A few smooth caresses of the buttocks, running along the stretch marks. Kisses about the freckles of his neck and shoulders, occasionally pinching the skin between fang and tongue. A hard suck against his chest, drawing blood to surface, a mark that would last days. Torsos grinding, Prompto's hardening girth pressed against Ignis’s softness. Kisses of hot breath and tongue on teeth as he laced his fingers to golden locks and tugged lightly. He could feel the other shuddering below him. Prompto was nothing if not dependable.

And, once Prompto had gotten there, Ignis crawled onto all fours like usual. “Hurry.” Breathlessly spoken.

Using nothing but his own saliva, just the way His Majesty liked it, Prompto inserted himself and went to work.

It lacked the passion of past years. Ignis had grown more methodical; so had he. So few guarantees did they have in life, they would waste no time. So seemed the logic. Feeling Ignis’s flesh close around him, sweet rhythmic squishing rising to his ears, all Prompto could do was think back to the times he had fallen fully to the throes of pleasure; [so triumphant were they on the night of his coronation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10612686), little could be done to stop them. It was still the happiest memory in his years past the Fall.

Keeping his hold firm, biting his lip, Prompto aimed to harden his partner as well, slowly though it appeared, quickly thrusting to root. As he pounded away, subtly angling himself, hips reddening at the force continually meeting Ignis’s cheeks, he noticed that the man had begun trembling. Soon Ignis could barely even hold himself, elbows buckling, rear kept up in Prompto’s grasp of his hips. Prompto withdrew right away. “Are you all right? Ignis!”

“M…meds…” Ignis called weakly, allowing his hips to fall to the sheets.

“Haven’t you had them today already? You don’t wanna OD…” Plus, Prompto had no idea where anything was kept in this chamber, empty as it was.

With a sudden, sharp movement, Ignis jolted up and reached toward the sound of Prompto’s voice, finding a golden tuft and lacing his fingers deep within it. By it, he pulled Prompto closer to him. “Bedside drawer, left side.”

Prompto winced as Ignis let go and collapsed again. Prompto made his way bedside and lit a dim light to locate the bottle. He placed a single pill in Ignis’s hand, which the king took dry. In this light, Prompto could see well the scars that adorned his side, much like his eyes. He imagined that to Ignis they felt much like magma, a living, searing memory robbing him more and more of his present senses.

The wounds should have healed by now. Oh, if only. If only he could help his king cope.

Ignis lay on his less marred side, facing away from Prompto. Prompto sat beside him, heart calming, blood slowing. He combed his mind for the right words. “You… You’re finished?”

“Why bother anymore? I feel nothing.”

Prompto’s eyes widened. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Months.”

“Ignis…”

Prompto thought about what this meant. For so long he had given his body to Ignis, a shield, a warrior, a lover, a toy. Once a week, at least, he would receive a text:

_ “Prompto, I need you.” _

The only words he ever wanted.

Every time, he obliged. Quickly, he grew to know that more of Ignis had been wounded than he’d ever let on those years ago. Prompto did not know how deep they went. Never asked. Never told. He had never seen the king — the man, his friend — so low.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why…did you let me do this?”

There came no answer. The feeling flooding the room was not unfamiliar to Prompto; shame thicker than oil, roiling in the king’s flesh, unable to even let him speak.

Prompto lay beside him, draping an arm across, careful not to touch any scar. “Iggy, please. Ignis, Your Majesty, whatever you want me to call you… just talk to me. We used to have no secrets. I can still help you. In other ways than this.”

“How can you help me? In what way can your mind even begin to comprehend?”

It stung.

He expected sharp honesty from Ignis most of all, but it still hurt.

Shoving himself out of bed, Prompto slinked over to his discarded pants and nabbed a loose cigarette from the pocket. He lit it by the fire of the oil lamp and sat back down. The scent of smoke and strawberry shortly reached Ignis.

“Oh, no. No. Not in here.”

Sighing, Prompto took a single deep drag, then put the cig back out. He flopped onto his back, exhaling his smoky mist, facing the bed canopy and staring blankly as the lamp’s light drew low ripples across the canopy’s dark hue, through a faintly smoky veneer.

“I still remember back when King Regis said we took on a great burden, setting out with Noct. Noct… I would have gone through hell for him. I guess you can say we all did. Now we’re here.

“I miss him every moment of every day. With every part of me. He was…my first friend. My best friend. He didn’t care what I was, where I came from. He loved me. He loved you, too, and Gladio. Gladio…

“Gladio won’t talk to me anymore. I can’t get through to him. You’re all I have left. Please… If you can’t talk to me, at least find Noct in your heart, and talk to him. Find your way back. Lucis needs you. I…need you.”

Ignis turned to lie on his back. To this day, he was unsure if Prompto even understood the extent to which he’d loved Noctis. Knowing Prompto, however…the surprising depth of his emotional understanding… _ just _ ,  _ maybe _ …

Prompto could shed some light. A light cast unashamed on Ignis’s every bump and tear.

“Prompto, sometimes I hate your good little heart.”

A mixed look. “Don’t say that.”

“We’re not going to survive this.”

“Don’t say that!”

“Look at you. At us.”

A wry grin, absorbed by dissipating smoke and dim light. “Excuse me? What exactly’s wrong with me? I’m not the one angsting in his royal chamber.”

A deep sigh. “I wish I could feel the way that you do.”

Prompto moved even closer to Ignis, curling into him. “You clearly need some time away from all this.”

“And what, leave  _ you  _ to lead?” Slowly, the dam was cracking.

“Cor will find somebody. Monica. You know at least  _ someone  _ on the council can help.”

Ignis groaned — not from pain.

“Don’t do this to yourself.”

Turning aside him, Ignis finally faced Prompto. Prompto’s lips parted. Ignis’s face showed what appeared to be regret, as if it pleaded with Prompto unknowingly to release him from his mind’s echo chamber of doubt and fright.

“What shall I do?”

Prompto brought his hand around to Ignis’s head, gently weaving his fingers into long hair. “Trust in Noct. Trust in yourself.”

“What if I can't?”

“I think you can. He'll always be there for us. Remember? Always moving forward…together.”

Ignis reached weakly for Prompto’s hand. Prompto’s fingers met his, interlacing gingerly.

“…I just didn’t want to lose you. Your face. Your touch. What next? Your voice? Your very presence?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I…I know.”

Ignis lay in contemplation for moments more. In his darkest hours, he missed Prompto's face most. Yet he could picture it perfectly as it had been decades prior: warm, bright, always full of emotion. His mind told him incorrectly that the ways of the world must have drained him by now, yet he could sense the ever radiance of the younger man’s visage from his very life force.

He dared not lose him.

He finally allowed himself to revel in the uncertainty of his future. They would remain here, one way or the other. Such a feeling he could not say his forebearers has possessed.

“I wish Regis or Noct had not had to feel such pain.”

Though Ignis could not see it, Prompto only smiled, faintly. “They were strong, like you.”

A pause. The bed was warmer now. Bringing Prompto’s hand to his face, Ignis felt his warmth.

Memories returned to Ignis as if released from a vault. He remembered Prompto's tenderness, his attentive care when he had become freshly impaired. While Noct was unconscious, he had waited up every single night to see if Ignis needed help. At the onset of the Decade of Darkness, Prompto had concerned himself most with Ignis before the older man had set off to find himself. Prompto had given so much of himself, selflessly — everything he had, more than even he himself understood. Giving in to selfish demands and making himself available even at such dark hours. Even now, he was still at Ignis’s side.

Prompto helped Ignis back under the sheets, crawling beneath them himself. He lay there facing the king.

There, at night's slow turn to twilight, they drifted together into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after my mind fell into the hole of this conceptual AU after writing [the saddest thing ever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10498812). There may be 2-3 more works following this at different points of the timeline...thanks to a certain someone. There will be 1 next week. It's good.
> 
> (If you like these, I also have a [spicy tumblr](http://lil-peach-pit.tumblr.com) that is currently mostly reblogs of all sorts and some art, but will eventually host more stuff I've made once I have free time to do anything besides write sad fanfiction.)


End file.
